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Line of Deliverance

In the shadowed shades of my blues.

I tenderly look for another who I can summon as one who lives life in honor,

Of all that is true.

Those who speak the spoken word in all its iridescent hues.

Colors drape my inner wardrobe.

Yet, I clamber for my grey, nuances of noir.

Catastrophizing all the whites for showing up my yellow gnashers.

Against a blustery pale backdrop of mountain blanketed by capped ice.

Brazen, I stand on the highest peak.

Cheeks misted by tears.

Contemplative in being joyful for the moments of inner peace.

Cast out this unwanted wardrobe.

No more to colours in clandestine!

The drab shabby (not so chic) curtains concealing my true identity.

My make up is not for every entity.

I’m asked to write the truest sentence I know.

Hemingway knew a way to interweave words worth more than bread made from the finest patisserie dough.

Scraping pennies to get by the hard knocks.

We do what we gotta do to get by.

Poverty causes ‘bros before hoes’ and ‘chicks before pricks’.

Keeping my pins steady as balls curve to nebulant sides — it incites fear into my inner stream of consciousness, dialogue conflicts –

Savaged by doubt and insecurity.

I’m on a trip with a Make believe demeanor.

One to conjure up more stamina and longevity-

To warn my inner Hecate to hesitate before she dare pro-curate.

Write to recover through seeping, bandaged wounds.

Riddling the mind with infectious curiosity,

To want knowledge is the power I crave.

It’s my security.

Droplets of lonely anguish torments my darkest spell.

I am the white temptress tempted to awaken the beast inside.

Though, I know it will be the catalyst to an eternity of mocking turmoil.

My final destination is not the country I occupy.

I’m an immigrant

I’m a traitor.

Colonized and imprisoned by outdated Imperialists.

The world is full of egoistical folk in full throws of the delirium tremors.

Murmurs of fragile Life keeps me close to the fire.

It scintillates what I know is inside — lying dormant.

Ready to drive out the cancers multiplying with faces frozen,

In that blissful look of the ignorant .

I raise my sword.

It bleeds ink.

It is my heart : my deliverance.

I can’t fathom another way to jolt my instincts to kick out, and rise to take another breath.

I’m the one who needs these murky waters to survive . Forget I too need oxygen and gills to stabilize my Eco system.

If my world was captured by a drone;

I would want it to show me evolved into a hybridized pro-humanity amphibian.

Swimming side by side

dolphins & whales ad infinitum.

Cheerio escapee


Too much so dispense

Emotions ladled with cheerios

Not fun when rotund escapees flee from the nick.

Allow inner self respect to dictate your tone.

I digress,

I can write.

I can.

It’s a ‘happening’ .

I’m not doing this out of lust or hate.

Per chance,I did go to heaven or indeed another similar place-

that night


14 hours unconscious and not one recollection — not even my mother thumbing rosary beads

A doctor shakes his head

This patient is not good. prepare yourself, Madre

Rely on myself. Thanks fam for keeping me in Santa’s good books.

I’m already a well established drama telethon.

Damn I don’t need extra baggage-unless I can pay for it.

Even then should you allow me to?

Excess mass – Ovid thinks I’m Italian.

Rivaled Jesus

I fell off that mountain – Artemis mouthed out the word,


Yeah that is a fact.

12 Caesars rendered him an asylum seeker in religious scriptures.

Buck a wheat

mind your feet.

I’ve stopped caring.

Wait up!

I care enough to share my time, my belongings even..

I’ve stopped crying over boys sti growing into men

who provoke Life to ankle bite at 11th hour on the clock face

Solemn how it stare.

Routine attacks-skin rendered ready for a dose of reupholstery.

I do care.

I am kind.

I’m immune to people and places that hold me as a

syndronised Swedish ball,

slurpie, slush puppy.

Made in Stockholm.

Rhese are justwords,

it’s not about defining what this is or isn’t.

Conversations are a top way to parlez vous



Chapeaux -we have come to untether my very end.

If you don’t feel a vibe speak not in tongues or a form of verbose


I’m not one for stuttering.

I guess I’m fickle too

I thought I fell harder way more than I have.

What does love for a soul mate feel like?

Two hands framed by a scarf around a neck?

Blue Smurfette isn’t down on my list of taboos to do.

One step

A few words…

Keep talking ,

keep laughing ,

keep crying.

Whatever you do — sweet heart — remember to stay true to you.


Yes, love — number one.

I’ve got you .

Bears in man cuff

Walking with man cuffs round the 4 edges of these walls

and every reflection i gaze into

Al I see is those beaten ,bloody paws

the ones that climb into me even when i scream out

I am worth more.

I seek for a relief from this constant itching to feel sweet relief for a few hours

I long for a moment when I can look in the mirror and not see a pair of eyes lower and cowers .

State of Dis Orient

Ladies dressed up to watch the jockeys race, not on but against their steed.

A befitting bet, the only time you will see her bow down, wearing a fascinator – laid on the mud- sacerdotal, on her knees – lunacy fanned out in a stylish turn of the century plead. 

Mixologists stir up a great spectacle – 50 per cent proof. This skulls hidden unconscious is about to  set  Ablaze

Four straws facing north, east , south, and west. It’s nearly 8 o clock and she is losing all sense of walking along cobbled streets – eyes misty -sultry in her glaze.

Somewhere, busy – night rolls her up in its fringed tapestry. 

Abandoned, lost. Cries of her child – don’t let them take her. 

Don’t let them know she is the true reason the station has become a living catastrophe.

How did she make it past the patrolled border?

An elevator –



confused – out of order.

A wack to the mouth causes bones to elementary fracture.

Spewing out pieces of ivory tooth and red rotten metallic pulp. She has become the victim of a  mere capture.

No eyes, no mouth, no voice.

How can an invisible entity  cause so much blood to make enough for a devil   Mc flurry?

She stumbles about – finally free – absorbing kleenex tissues to stifle the colour of Florida’s orange rain. 

Elbows, whistles, laughter  – a short dwarfed jockey, begs, catches her eye – nods at her in mocking disdain.

Maybe just this once she could wish for a  platform called nine and three quarters. 

She knows the wizard told her to click her shoes thrice and think of home. How is that nothing resembles a place she knows holds the faces of her loving daughters?

Chiming spinning, no change, no credit card, no ticket. 

Ringing, coming from her leathery bag – could it possibly hold  the conscious of a good-hearted  Jimney cricket?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Familiarity breeds a set of stifled sighs.

Eyes veer to her left,  a drunken, matted hair women scream to her brood don’t let these people put you down. You are who you are – Never be ashamed and don’t fucken frown.”

” Let’s have it.”

I’m home!

I’m home!

I’m home!

I’m home!

Nothing seems familiar. She doesn’t recognize a face, a place, not even the sound of the underground.

Train tracks look as slumber full a place to have a reality dysphoric fit.

All of you attempting to copy her brand of me -too-ism.

Not even the darkest version of voodoo blended with rum can get you to her level of cuckoo-ism 

Her child appears. Disappears in the arms of another blur.

A man who says he is her husband is here to take her home – in his arms – he attempts to gather her.

Not without my daughter. She knows what these child traffickers are doing. 

Police form a ring around her – all flashing lights- yellows and blues.

What happened Miss – Miss? 

She breaks down into a misfit of boo hoo-ing. 

Assaulted by her mind and the evil hands of time. 

Destroy the ones she loves – her gaping heart – her child won’t come near her,  not even if the thought crossed over to bribe her child with a dime.

Rage, fury, vengeance and betrayal – a feud with her family- the ones who have stuck by her to the very end.

Divorce on grounds of stationary inebriation. 

Rings are thrown to the ground. Frodo come get what is rightly yours and have your eternal salvation.

Clean sheets, a bottle warmer tinkers at her feet, a hug from the husband who she tried to chase away and defeat. 

A portrait of a framed married couple- Cracked and jagged on the side of this man. Fragmented glass distorts a smile, rendering it obsolete. 

So it is true she is the one encrypted with a  learned evil, the one who holds the reigns of the one who goes by the name  Deceipt?

She picks ups her lace parasol. It can only hide little and only reveal so much – she still has the fascinator and her original brand of receipt. 

She bares all she can bear

Nothing is holding my interest today.. I feel sad, empty, confused.

Confused because I should be anything but these dreaded feelings…

Here are all the amazing things going on that I SHOULD be happy about

  • I’m considering topping up my BA with a masters in Creative writing because I can. Well, I will fund it but I can write. Some people have no limbs and wish they could write!

  • I get love and hugs from my partner and my daughter all the time.

  • I’m moving forward slowly but surely with the volunteering. In two weeks time, I’m doing a 4 day facilitating course to help mental health service users- One step closer to getting the Eating disorder group up and running.  Gaining more and more experience and knowledge

  • I am fit. Healthy. My body is neither thin nor fat. It is in good shape.

  • I have friends and family to. I don’t have loads of friends but the ones I do. I treasure.

    I got my tattoo cover up done yesterday and it is colourful and bright just like my future and my true personality. I’ve waited three months for my slot too come up to get it done.

    My Ma is pulling out every stop you can think of to make sure I have the fantasy wedding that I never even dreamed about.

Brain’s suddenly stopped. What else is going on?

Oh yes, this . My blog. It’s growing as I too grow and find  new interests. I feel  more supported as each day comes to a close and it is blanketed,lulled into a cozy slumber.Stillness. Time to rest.

Why isn’t this enough?

Why in the back of my head do I turn away from my family and go inwards and inwards and inwards -spiralling around and around and around, until I am  at the centre of my own lonely self?

Not even a flower to show for it. Not even a weed!

I look down

No, I’m the fucking weed! I’m scared I am losing my mind…

Why does the thought of organising my wedding feel like a cold pail bucket of ice water thrown over me?

Why do my thoughts tell me that my husband- to- be -doesn’t love me?

No, that is not entirely accurate. He  sees..

He sees flaws!

Flaws that he never saw before. That he refused to see?


Why don’t I give enough love to my daughter?

Why do I continue to compare my life to others when we are all so different? Not necessarily better.


Unique ,right?

Why do I feel stupid when I am not? My hobbies , the things I think about…

..all point to someone with some degree of intelligence and to up the dramatics of this post; I have  a never ending warrior- like  cry, yearning for more learning and understanding?

Why do I allow myself to let people who I knew years ago,  make or break my day,with the thoughts I think that they think about me?




Why do I feel guilty for having a non- workout day? One day. .

Why can’t I be enthusiastic?

Why am I so hard on myself?

I torture myself with my mind. I’m losing my mind. This time I don’t want to. I’m conscious  this time..

Not good enough. Never good enough.

Whatever I do – whenever I succeed,

I go on a brief high and then comes the


My body remembers it has to conform to gravity. Bloody bollocks to that.

I compare myself to other peoples successes and  how they look and that –

That,is when I feel my mood gets to the point where I want to be numb.

No, that is only temporary. Numbness inevitably always wears off.

I want to trade my body,mind and life with another!

What am I saying? these words…

My body is beautiful!

My soul ,

my life is simple, magical and it is mine. No. I won’t let these thoughts taunt me. They know my emotional IQ is below average. A lot of my emotions all feel the same.

For the record ,I don’t need more therapy.

I just need to let go and identify my feelings. My thoughts chase after them,around the twisted turns and corridors of my mind.

Ghostly faces and limbs,


  Gaping black ,open mouthed  monsters.  No teeth – not one glimmer. A glimmer would mean that  their is hope to escape them.

Only darkness- they want to swallow me and keep me in that pit of darkness.

Blacked out blinds and windows. Some rooms in my mind have been better refurbished than others.

No light bulbs – not even a match or a candle…..

They have burned the last of my light,

 my books – my precious books, that helped me connect to my emotions,illuminated my mind.

They  helped me navigate my emotions in the darkness, grasping  onto the ball of string.  Unravelling,

Unravelling  the one thought that can help me exit this existence  –


Possibly, I can get back on top of that mountain and inhale the pure air. Allow the mist to cloak me in  happiness and success again.

Maybe then,

Then I could see my self as enough -all of  the time.

I could see myself the way some people in my life describe me!

How many contradictions can my mind have? I AM GOING INSANE!

NO,I AM GOOD ENOUGH. one sharp intake of breath. Mine.

a pause,


 No sound. I scream louder and louder – some kind of  jaded sorcery  has stolen-

Stolen my voice, my light, my smile, my..

My me.


I don’t even know how I feel about this post. Wait!

My useless words feel inadequate,  my sappy command of the the English language is that of some cursed simpleton that everyone avoids.

I’m not vain! I know beauty fades.. Insecurity is unattractive…

I do love to laugh.

I love cuddles.

So it all boils down to my words. This.

This post! … lost… trying so hard to be a writer and have I succeeded?

NO!   (wait there is a whisper, faint ever so faint)

yes.. yes yes you have- because ,

because I am being true to myself.

I am honouring my feelings- the ones that lack an IQ.

I’m trying to give them the only  chance  they have, to get into the newly built safe- house. Built higher up , into the  low beamed attic of my mind.Steep. small stairs  to climb.

I have a key. I can’t go on too much about it. The other thoughts will try  mix me up and I will forget.

Yes,  I lost it- it was dark but I think  can find it…

I will find it.

Yes, we will be safe … until I figure out where the hell to put  my emotions

Run! NO -Fight… Fight.

write and write and write and write …

write, because it is the only thing that is keeping me safe. The only thing that gives me hope; is that this melancholic garbage- this freaky house  of a  mind of mine , invaded with – haunting, damning  thought- squatters, will pass.


The other thoughts have super keen hearing.  Hold my breathe.Hold yours. Hold it!

Erase what I told you from your mind.



Wait.  Okay..

The safe house if I find the key . I have access to light .

Well one lighter,


A safe full of explosives.

I will exterminate them from their favourite breeding grown. My fucking home!

“Here little critters, come out , come out -let’s play dangerous” Can you hear them scuttle, their  hard shelled cockroaches clicking. Their preferred form.

No more.

No more hiding in the dark.

I need to go.

I need to find that key.

Draw a fine line and tell me what side my mind is on.